Mice
by New Konoiche
Summary: Helen Harris III has a pathological need to be liked, especially by Perry's children. Meanwhile, Perry's son, Jaden, a brilliant but awkward loner, spends most of his time obsessing over an obscure TV show called The Mice of King Arthur's Court. As the two try to rediscover Jaden's passion for real life, Helen and Jaden discover they have more in common than they realized.
1. Chapter 1: Jaden

Chapter One: Jaden

I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach this morning as I open my MacBook and click to my favorite obscure _Mice_ forum. I start scrolling through a debate between Mouse_Fan 2666 and King Arthur The Great about whether the show should be given a spin off series (King Arthur is vehemently against it as he believes it would tarnish the quality of the original, while Mouse_Fan wants to see the characters move in "exciting new directions"), when it hits me like a sack of hardened cement (what? You wanted me to say "a sack of bricks?" No thanks. That's beyond cliché.) I don't think I like _Mice_ anymore. Actually, the feeling has been clawing at the back of my mind for several weeks now even if I tried to deny it. I still watch the show religiously every day and I still frequent the forum. I even still work on my fanfic featuring a time travel escapade. But none of it carries the same charm or spark as it did when I first discovered _Mice_ six months ago. I am saddened to find that as I skim Mouse_Fan's and King Arthur's comments, I really couldn't care either way if _Mice_ receives a spin off or not. I _should_ care. But I don't. And that upsets me more than anything.

You're probably wondering what the hell this _Mice_ thing is and why you (or I, for that matter) should care about it. Well, I'll explain it to you, but you probably won't get it. _The Mice of King Arthur's Court_ is a low-budget British TV show featuring puppets and following the exploits of a group of rodents who live during the Middle Ages. Admittedly, said exploits aren't usually very exciting and generally involve a lot of philosophical dialogue.

 _Mice_ appeared in my life completely by accident. A few of my Anime Club friends and I were looking at a forum that discussed bad TV shows from around the world when we found a link to _The Mice of King Arthur's Court_ along with the comment: "check this weird shit out. Legit stupidest show I have ever seen!" At first, I agreed with the poster that the puppet designs and the premise were incredibly stupid. Even though I generally like non-mainstream entertainment, I thought that the show looked over-whelmingly, laughably bad. Some of the puppets didn't even look like mice, for crying out loud. My friends and I watched a short clip mostly for a laugh and we all agreed that it stank to high heaven. However, a few days later, bored out of mind with only my loser sister Hermione to keep me company, I decided to give _Mice_ another try – again, mostly to make fun of it.

After the first episode, which hadn't been nearly as horrific as I expected, I clicked on the link to episode 2. This time, I actually laughed at some of the dialogue (though I'm sure it would've gone over most people's heads) and found myself enjoying the show. Maybe it was starting to pick up, I decided. As it turned out, episodes 3 and 4 were even better. _Mice_ seemed to be one of those rare shows that gets better with each episode. Before I knew it, it was nearly midnight and I had watched all 25 half-hour episodes of season one. And I unabashedly loved it. All of it: the stilted British accents, the campy stop motion when the mice ate or ran or climbed trees, the idiosyncratic puppet designs, the way the characters thought and talked deeply about issues of life and death. I had been incredibly mistaken. This show wasn't terrible at all. It was brilliant!

I hate to say it, but from that day forward, I became slightly obsessed with _Mice_. My annoying ex step mother, Helen, likes to point out that I have obsessive tendencies (in a nice way, she thinks. She really just wants to help me, she says, but I think she should mind her own business – especially since she and Dad are legally divorced. Yet she still insists on being part of mine and Hermione's lives even though neither of us has ever been remotely nice to her. Freaking weirdo). Although I do tend to become a bit overly involved in things I love (which so does Helen, by the way, since she clearly loves trying to be friends with me – gag), but never have I become so attached to anything as I did to _Mice_. When I wasn't watching and re-watching the episodes, I was trying to find other people's opinions. The unfortunate thing about liking an obscure show is that it's hard to find a community of like-minded fans. Normally, this wouldn't bother me, but I felt that my sudden love for _Mice_ needed to be shared.

Eventually, after days of searching, I encountered a fan site. Sure, King Arthur the Great, Mouse_Fan 2666 and I may have been the only members, but it was still great to have someone to talk to. On the down side, however, I often got offended when either of my fellow fans disliked something about the show. Petty? Yeah. Babyish? Even more yeah. But what can I say? I was weirdly protective of _Mice_ kind of like a knight in shining armor defending his beloved.

As the weeks went by, I became more and more hooked. Some days, I would blow off my friends' offers to hang out so that I could re-watch episodes and/or talk to Mouse_Fan 2666 and King Arthur the Great and/or work on my fan art and/or search for spoilers about a potential 5th season (which even then I knew was highly unlikely to ever happen). Helen nosily wondered if I thought I was missing out and whether I was getting lonely, despite the fact that it was clearly not her business (honestly, even my dad and Hermione didn't care and they actually see me on a day-to-day basis). She was absolutely wrong. I was perfectly content. I didn't miss my friends because I had _Mice_ in my life and I preferred spending my days immersed in the world of the show. The King Arthur-verse was a hell of a lot better than real life anyway.

So with all that being established, what would happen if I no longer liked _The Mice of King Arthur's Court_? At this point, I am legitimately freaked. My heart speeds up and my breathing becomes short and raspy, so I reach for my inhaler. _Nah_ , I decide, after taking a puff of air. I probably just need to watch a few episodes again. _Yes_ , I think. That will make me feel better.

Suddenly, my cell phone buzzes and I jump. My friends have long stopped trying to get together and my father never calls me from work. That means there's only one person it could be.

"What do you want, Helen?" I ask, which is, to be honest, snotty even for me. Contrary to how I act, I don't actually hate Helen. And really, I have to give credit where credit is due. She tries ridiculously hard. Actually, I've never met anyone so God damn persistent. At some point, however, there is a pretty thin line between persistent and practically masochistic. I'm pretty sure she's crossed that line a long, long time ago. One would think she would drop the façade of "Good Stepmother"/complete ass-kisser after the divorce, but oddly enough, ever since divorcing my dad, she's been even more intent on pretending to like the things I like, which is annoying as hell because her definition of "surreal/non-mainstream" film is _Donnie Darko_ or _Mulholland Drive_. She especially tried with _Mice_ , by the way, but as predicted, she completely didn't get it, even if she pretended she did.

"Hey, Jaden!" she says in her typical cheery voice as if I didn't just snap at her. "Owen and I were thinking of going to the new Modern Art exhibit down town. Would you like to go with us?"

I actually don't hate Helen's new boyfriend, Owen, either, even though he often acts like he's even younger than me. I guess I can't expect him to be too normal, though, since Helen met him at a retreat where people are guided through finding themselves or some new age bullshit when she was in the process of divorcing my father. Helen and Owen – who, I should add, like to refer to themselves as _Howen_ – bleh – like refer to it as "Summer Camp for Adults with Issues," but to me it just sounds like a place to sort out all of your first world problems. At least Owen doesn't make a huge effort of pretending to understand my interests and he certainly doesn't try to analyze them or sound smart. If he doesn't get the point of a piece of art I like, he will straight up say "I don't get it." Then he will ruffle my hair and say: "you are one weird little dude, Jaden."

Obviously, I have little desire to attend the Modern Art exhibit with Helen and Owen (nope, I refuse to call them "Howen") as I already know it will probably consist of Helen bragging about knowing the curator (who doesn't she know?) and Owen pointing out which pieces are phallic shapes and Helen insisting that she knows the difference between Modern Art and Postmodern Art and that pretty much every single thing represents how disconnected Millennials are in the age of Facebook (which is rather hypocritical given that Helen probably spends more time of Facebook than Mark Zuckerberg himself – and on that note, she actually knows Mark Zuckerberg personally. Allegedly, she once threw a birthday party for him and now they are extremely close friends, even if Zuckerberg never actually friended her on Facebook). So, yeah. No thanks, basically.

I am about to tell her that I have previous engagements, when I stop and think for a minute. Maybe my disinterest in the conversation about _Mice_ this morning happened because I spend too much time with _Mice_. Maybe all I need to refresh my interest is to spend some time away from the show. Then, when I get back from the museum, I can watch an episode with fresh eyes.

"Okay, sure," I say.

"Okay? Sure?" Helen repeats, sounding incredulous.

"Yeah, fine," I add.

"Oh I'm so glad!" she practically shouts. "I feel like I never get to see you anymore! This will be really fun, I promise. I hear they just opened a whole section on Duchamp and were able to get the actual sculptures from Paris and I was just telling Owen how much I'm dying to see _Fountain_ in real life."

"Uh huh." _Sure you were_.

"Yay!" says Helen, probably not even noticing that she is doing 90% of the talking – as is usually the case these days. "Owen and I will swing by to get you in about an hour. Is that okay?"

"Whatever," I reply.


	2. Chapter 2: Helen

Chapter Two: Helen

If you're wondering why I continue to make such a ridiculous effort with Jaden – a person who by his own admission gives absolutely nothing back – then you are not even remotely alone. Owen and Perry also both wonders this – in fact, it's probably the one thing they agree on. So do my parents. And Dr. Sam Samuelson. Hell, even _I_ wonder sometimes. Is it because he seems like a deeply sad and angry person just beneath his sometimes excruciating know-it-all persona? Or because I feel excessively guilty for abandoning him and Hermione after the divorce when I know very well they lost their mother at a young age (Hermione was still in diapers, but Jaden was certainly old enough to remember his mother's death)? Or is it because I have some deep-rooted masochistic tendencies?

Dr. Sam Samuelson definitely thinks it's the last one. The first time I went to see him, he kindly pointed out that just beneath my well-polished masquerade of cheerful normalcy, I am actually really f-ing weird. Okay, maybe he didn't put it quite like that – actually, the words he used were "damaged" and "broken" – but I can't help thinking he is more right than I wanted to give him credit for. When he said this, I gave him a sparkly, perfectly white smile with my jaw clenched so tight my teeth may as well have crumbled into perfectly shiny dust. I told him that, although I definitely didn't question his credentials at all, he clearly didn't know what he was talking about as I was fine – just as happy as I seemed, in fact – even though I had only come to see him after I tore my calf muscle on the treadmill and then continued running for nearly an hour until it swelled up like a balloon and the pain was so bad I almost fainted. When Perry came home and heard the story, he rolled his eyes and said "Jesus, Helen. You need help," even when I tried to insist that I hadn't done it on purpose (even though it had been after a pretty epic argument with Hermione) and that it didn't even really hurt that much.

I suppose it all comes down to the fact that I have a pathological need to be liked. Sure everyone _wants_ to be liked (yes, even Jaden in spite of his rudeness and inability to give back), but it goes beyond desire for me. I don't want to be liked. Or rather, I don't _just_ want to be liked. I need it so badly that I sometimes feel that without approval I will wither away to nothing. In fact, after my first meeting with Sam Samuelson, I sat in my car for nearly half and hour sobbing uncontrollably – partly because he hurt my feelings and partly because I knew he was right, but mostly because I had a sinking, ice-cold fear in the pit of my stomach that my therapist didn't like me. To be fair, I didn't really like him either, but that didn't matter. I guess I'm just weird that way.

From the day Perry brought me home to meet his children, Jaden and Hermione made their distaste abundantly clear. When Perry and I were both in the room, they were okay, even if they both spoke in monosyllables and refused to make eye contact. But the first time I spent a few hours alone with them, they didn't even pretend to make an effort at politeness. "So, what attracted you to my father?" Jaden asked in that smug way of his. "His personality and stunning good looks? Or his pay check?"

"We just clicked," I said. "We're really compatible," I said.

"Sure," said Jaden, rolling his eyes. "Of course you are."

It only got worse from there as I tried to convince the kids that no, I was not marrying their dad for his money (as I had plenty of that myself, thank you very much) and that even though Perry and I had only known each other a short time, the relationship was a strong one. Also, I was in no way trying to replace their mother ("no one ever said you were," snitted Hermione, glowering at me) and I really wanted to be a part of their lives ("for about six months," mumbled Jaden under his breath – which I took the high road about and chose to ignore.)

"How'd you like the kids?" Perry asked that night at dinner.

"They're super sweet," I said, but my voice quavered and broke at the end.

"Really?" Perry asked.

"N-no," I stammered and burst into tears. "They hate me. They were so mean!"

Perry sighed. "I'm sorry, Helen," he said. "I probably should have warned you. Jaden and Hermione can be difficult to get to know, but they'll warm up. I'm sure they'll learn to love you in time."

As it turns out, a year wasn't nearly enough to break Jaden and Hermione's iron shells and eventually, Perry got tired of my complaining and told me to go easy on the kids because, as it turns out, Jaden has severe asthma and Hermione was born 2 and a half months premature. Although I don't want to make light of either situation, I hardly see what either has to do with them dumping out my tropical beach body lotion or purposefully eating all the strawberry ice cream in the Neapolitan because they know it's my favorite. Maybe Perry's objective was simply to make me feel bad for occasionally losing my temper and often whining about them behind their backs. And if that was the case, then mission accomplished.

You're probably wondering why I loved Perry in the first place. Was it because of his high status? Or because his aloof, often cold behavior reminded me of my dad? Or because I'm simply afraid of being alone? Actually, the answer is a lot simpler than that. Sometimes, you just can't help who you fall in love with. When I was little, my parents had a country song on one of their mixed tapes called "Timber – I'm Falling in Love." I think that basically explains my relationship with Perry. Nothing was there and then suddenly, out of nowhere: Timber! Falling hard and fast. Actually, the same was true with Owen but he was even more "timber."

The Museum of Fine Arts is crowded with art enthusiasts and liberal arts students when Jaden, Owen and I arrive. "I'm so glad you could join us," I say to Jaden for approximately the millionth time. "Maybe we could buy something for Hermione at the gift shop. I bet they have mini-replicas of _Fountain_. She'd get such a kick out of that!" For the unaware (which is by no means an insult, as I was unaware such art work existed myself until I researched it), _Fountain_ is a piece by Marcel Duchamp that is a urinal with graffiti at the bottom. To be honest, I don't really understand how it's art, but I would never tell that to Jaden (or any other modern art fan). Maybe Hermione wouldn't find it funny, but Owen certainly did (and to be honest, so did I, for about a millisecond).

Jaden shrugs, his eyes on the floor. "Yeah, maybe," he practically whispers.

"What is Hermione up to these days?" I ask, though to be honest, I gave up on trying to build any kind of worthwhile relationship with Hermione after she laughed at Annie's tantrum during Lillian's bridal shower and said it was "awesome" when Annie destroyed and mocked all my hard work. So maybe I'm less of a masochist than Sam Samuelson thinks.

Really, I only brought Hermione up to make conversation as Jaden has been oddly quiet and subdued during our museum tour. And by that, I mean he is quiet in completely different way than usual. Usually, when Owen and I take him to events, he seems bored and distracted, as if he can't wait to get home and return to his computer. Today, he just seems sad as he wanders through the rooms, biting his lip and barely looking at anything, his eyes teary and far away.

He shrugs again. "Don't know," he mumbles.

I have to do something to snap him out of it, so I decide to make a comment so purposefully uninformed and poseurish that he will have no choice but to lecture me on exactly why I am wrong. "You know," I say, "I bet Duchamp was inspired by Andy Warhol. They both focus on how disjointed modern life in the Western world is and how isolated we are from nature." Yes, perfect. It's entirely stupid given that Duchamp was born nearly a century before Warhol. Not to mention that a urinal has entirely nothing to do with nature or isolation or anything of the sort. Unless, of course, it does.

Jaden makes no response. Now I know for sure that something is very, very wrong.

"Jaden," I say, pulling him aside. "Is everything okay? Is something wrong?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm fine," he responds without a single trace of his patented Jaden sarcasm.

"Are you sure?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Because if there's ever anything you want to talk about, you can tell me."

For the first time all day, Jaden looks me directly in the eye. I brace myself for an assault of snark. But instead, he simply says, "really?"

"Yes, really! I honestly mean that. You can call me if you want to talk any time!"

Jaden nods. "Okay," he says.


	3. Chapter 3: Jaden

Chapter Three: Jaden:

As soon as Helen drops me off from the museum, I race into my bedroom and fling open my MacBook, my mind racing a thousand miles a minute. The whole time we were looking at urinals (yes, that is one of Duchamp's most famous pieces – I didn't find it as interesting as Helen did nor as funny as Owen did – seriously, how old is he again?), all I could think about re-watching _Mice_ , a huge lump forming at the back of my throat. I know I should have been concentrating on the artwork – practicing mindfulness or whatever Helen calls it, especially as my plan was to take a break from Mice in order to get a fresh perspective when I returned – but I couldn't stop worrying.

I put on Season 3, episode 5. After the theme song, a catchy rendition of "Scarborough Faire," Thesidauticus starts explaining Bernoulli's Principal to two of his friends. And yes, I know very well that Bernoulli's Principal hadn't been discovered in King Arthur's Day, but anachronisms like this have always been part of Mice's charm, in my opinion. Usually, Thesidauticus' lectures crack me up – in fact, he's usually my favorite character – but as he babbles on, I can't help but feel something at the back of my mind. This is actually boring. Not only that, but it's also annoying. _No_ , I think, my throat swelling with tears, _that simply cannot be_! Maybe I'm just in a bad mood after that ridiculous outing with Helen and Owen. I didn't hear much of what they were saying, as I was so busy ruminating over the fact that I might no longer enjoy my favorite show, but I'm sure Helen and Owen were both especially annoying. Maybe I just need to fast forward a bit.

But the rest of the episode isn't much better. Sure, I still appreciate it on a technical level. It's still brilliant. I know it is. But at the same time, I just don't feel it. I watch a second and then a third episode and find, to my dismay, that not only am I not feeling it, but I actually find the episodes boring – something which has never, ever happened before while watching Mice. Tears cloud my vision, so I quickly remove my glasses and wipe them delicately with the bottom of my shirt.

 _Calm down, Jaden_ , I tell myself. _Maybe you just need a longer break_. But I'd never needed a break from Mice before. Something about this seems serious, permanent, and a great, crushing emptiness swells in my chest as my lungs constrict and the room blurs through my tears. Then, the emptiness is replaced by icy, hard, choking terror that makes it difficult to swallow. What if I've just wasted half a year of my life devoted to something that, well, sucks? Mice is just a show, after all. But I've spent so much time focused on it that I literally have nothing else in my life – and, yes, I do mean "literally" literally. I've been such an obsessive moron that I replaced my life with a television show and couldn't even see why that might not be the best idea.

I need to talk to someone. But who? I'm not sure how creating a thread on the Mice forum would help me. If anything, it would probably just piss Mouse_Fan and King Arthur off. And my real life friends are definitely out of the question, too, as I haven't talked to any of them since school got out a month ago (and precious little before that, too, if I'm honest, as I spent an increasingly large amount of time on the school computers at lunch instead of eating with them as the semester went on). My father is at work, but even if he weren't, I'm sure all he would do is role his eyes, say "oh well," and tell me to get outside more – his suggestion for pretty much everything.

And then it dawns on me: just earlier today Helen told me that I could call her any time I needed to talk. Sure she may be an annoying poseur, but what other choice do I have? Knowing Helen, it was probably just one of those things adults think they are required to say and never really mean. But hey, if that was the case, she shouldn't have said it. There's nothing worse, in my opinion, than spewing bullshit you don't mean or making promises you have no intention of keeping. If she wants so badly to be involved in my life and in my problems, then this is a great place to start.

Helen answers on the first ring. "Jaden? What's wrong? Is everything okay?" she asks quickly and in a shrill voice. Clearly, I note, she wasn't expecting to hear from me. Not a good sign.

I realize I am still hyperventilating and take a deep breath. "No," I say, my voice coming out tight, almost strangled.

"Well, what's wrong?"

Despite the warmth and concern in her voice, I start to think this is a bad idea. I don't really want to explain it. I honestly don't even know how. "You wouldn't get it," I say, more sharply than I intend.

"Well, try me," she says. "Take your time." I make a quick mental note that she doesn't sound angry or impatient in the slightest despite my harsh tone. _Pushover or not_ , I think, _she is actually a pretty damn nice person_.

"No, this was a bad idea," I stammer. "I should probably just go."

"Jaden!" she snaps, which takes me aback as she's only yelled at Hermione and myself a handful of times. "Look, you called me and I'm really, really glad you did – Owen and I are meeting Kevin and Becca for drinks in a few minutes, but we can always postpone – but if you're going to call me, the least you could do is tell me what's wrong!"

I am silent for a moment, wondering if maybe I should take back my thoughts about how Helen is a nice person. I have no idea who Kevin and Becca are, and I'm sure I don't care, but could she have been more passive aggressive?

"Jaden?" says Helen again, her voice softening. "Are you still there?" My throat floods with tears again and I am unable to respond. "Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you," she adds. "It's just, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on. Is it something to do with your father?" Hermione and I have both noticed that ever since Helen broke up with my dad, she tends to blame him for pretty much everything.

"No," I manage.

"Is it a girl, then? Or…is it a boy?"

I give a sharp unintentional snort. "Oh, real smooth, Helen," I sneer.

"What? I'm just asking. And it's completely okay with me if you are! I have lots of really good friends in the LGBT community."

Again, of course she does. She's friends with everyone ever. "Well, I'm not gay. And that's not what this is about. Sheesh. Could you just listen?"

Helen gives a small exasperated sigh. "I'm trying to, Jaden. What's going on?"

"It's hard to explain."

"Okay," she says.

"You're probably going to think it's really dumb and laugh at me."

"No WAY," Helen says vehemently. "I promise I would never laugh at someone's true, genuine feelings."

I can't help rolling my eyes at that. Likely she got that line from either her therapist or the leader at "Summer Camp for Adults with Issues."

"So, did you really mean that about how I could come to you at any time and tell you anything?" I ask. "Or were you just saying that to make yourself feel better?"

"I really, really meant it. Really!" Helen insists, but I'm pretty sure I don't believe her.

I sigh heavily and sit down on the edge of my bed. "Well, the thing is…It's just that…I don't think I like Mice anymore."

"Mice?" she repeats, sounding understandably confused.

"Yeah, you know, that show I watch all the time? The Mice of King Arthur's Court?"

"Oh. Oh yeah!" says Helen. "I watched it with you that one time. The one with those puppets. It was really…um…interesting. You don't like it anymore?"

"I'm not sure," I say. "I think I might not."

"Oh," she says carefully. "Why? I mean, what don't you like about it?"

"I don't NOT like it," I snap, again, not meaning to. "It just doesn't have the same spark as it used to have."

Helen gives a short laugh – the very thing she promised not to do – and then quickly covers her mouth and clears her throat. "I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't mean to laugh. But, oh well, right?"

"NO! NOT OH WELL!" Even I am taken aback by the volume and forcefulness of my shouting.

"Jaden, look," Helen says after a few strained seconds of silence. "It's just a show."

"No it ISN'T just a show," I snap. "You don't understand."

Helen sighs again, this time not hiding her exasperation at all. "You're right," she says. "I guess I don't. I mean, it's too bad you don't like your favorite show anymore. I kind of went through the same thing with _Breaking Bad_ recently, actually. I mean, It's a really well-made show and everything, but I think I might have just liked it because it's so popular and everyone's always talking about how great it is."

"Okay, that's not even close to being remotely the same thing, but whatever," I mumble. "Mice was the only thing making me happy."

"Oh, Jaden, that is SO not true!" Helen says, her voice sounding dangerously close to laughter again. "You have lots of other interests. Like, what about your drawings?"

Seriously? Has she never looked at said drawings before? "My drawings?" I repeat. "My drawings were always of Mice! They were my subject matter!" At this point, I realize I am crying again and my nose is starting to feel stuffed up.

I hear noises in the background and Helen murmuring something to Owen. "Look, Jaden…I'm sorry, but we really have to go. I want to keep talking about this though. In person, maybe. Is that okay? Maybe we could do for coffee? Or out to lunch?"

"Don't bother," I mutter and click off my iPhone.

She calls me back within two minutes, but I don't respond. Instead, I sit perfectly still on my bed, staring at the wall. One of the patterns looks a bit like a mouse and just seeing it causes my throat to swell, so I lock my eyes shut. I few minutes later, I am distracted by the ping of a text message.

"From: Helen," it says. "Do you want to come with me to the lake cabin this year?"


	4. Chapter 4: Helen

Chapter Four: Helen

"You could have asked first," is the first thing my mother, Helen Penelope Harris II, says to me when I casually mention that Jaden will be accompanying us to the lake cabin next week. Her voice sounds light and airy when she says it, but she wrinkles her nose and refuses to look at me, both signs that she is secretly pissed.

"You're right," I concede, because it's always better to let Helen Harris II think she has the upper hand. "I probably should have. But I really do think this will be good for Jaden. He's so in his head all the time. Maybe he'll perk up in a new place around new people."

Mom gives a small sigh and shakes her head. "Helen," she says and then looks me directly in the eye. Even after 30-odd years of being her daughter, I feel myself flinch and look away. Her lips straighten into a thin line and she shrugs, then continues folding underwear into her suitcase. "Never mind," she says, a cool wave of her perfectly manicured hand. "Forget I said anything."

"What?" I snap, barely able to contain my annoyance. It seems like every time she and I are in the same room, I revert back to a teenager or even a pre-teen. I used to think this was a common occurrence for all adults when in contact with their aging parents, but Dr. Sam Samuelson assured me that was definitely not the case and that it's just another uber weird/damaged/broken aspect of my character.

"Nothing," she says again.

It's all I can do to stop from literally stomping my foot. "No it's _not_ nothing. It's _not_ never mind. I'm not going to forget it. What?"

She sighs. "Well, it's just that I really don't understand why this child is your obligation anymore. And frankly, I think it's weird of you to get so involved. It's not your job to take care of him."

"Yeah I know that," I say sharply. "But someone has to take care of him. Perry certainly isn't going to and he doesn't have anyone else. He's going through a really hard time and I want to help him. I don't see what's weird about that," I add coldly. I do not add, however, that she actually makes a valid point. Even after Summer-Camp-for-Adults-with-Issues, I often find myself over committing to "projects" (that is, getting overly involved in someone else's life). People like Helen Harris II or Dr. Sam Samuelson or Perry or even that bitch Annie would say that it makes me seem desperate.

My mother sighs yet again. "Fine," she snips. "But tell him he has to clean up after himself and pay for his own hotel room."

"Yeah, of course!"

"And I'm not sharing a cabin with him when we get to the lake," she adds.

"Of course not. He'll have his own room." I stop just short of telling her thank you when I remember I wasn't even asking her permission in the first place.

Mom and I have gone to our cabin in Whitefish Lake, Minnesota every summer for the week of the Fourth of July since I was in preschool. Sometimes my dad accompanies us as well, but this year (and countless others) he finds excuses to avoid it. Occasionally, we are joined by various in-laws, including my uncle, Tom Snook, his daughter Ellory and Ellory's husband, Becket. Tom Snook may very well be the very definition of snob, but Ellory is one of the most refreshingly normal people I have ever met. Becket, meanwhile, is a happy-go-lucky Aussie who puts everyone in an infinitely better mood. Fortunately, all three are going to be present and accounted for this summer.

Most years, it is just Mom, me and my grandmother, Helen Penelope Harris I. And let's just say a triple dose of Helen Penelope Harris crammed together in a posh, but relatively small space is usually more passive-aggressiveness than most people – including my dad and grandfather – can handle. If I turn into a foot-stomping, snarky, pouting teen around my mother, Helen II turns even more immature around her own mother. Last year, for instance, she thought both of us were ganging up on her because we disagreed that we should have cold dinners every night instead of using the grill. This eventually lead to her pouting in her room while my grandmother rolled her eyes and said, "stop being so sensitive, Helen. Grow up."

"Yeah, mom," I had added in what I thought was a reasonable tone. "It's not that big a deal."

For some reason (probably related to the fact we had all been sipping martinis all afternoon), this eventually lead to Grandma Helen telling me I needed to form my own opinions and/or grow a backbone. Though I'm not proud to admit it, this lead to me storming out onto the porch in a huff where I proceeded to pout just like Mom. And Grandma, meanwhile, had no idea what she had done to enrage either of us, so she gave us the silent treatment for the rest of the night – which hardly mattered, given neither of us were talking to her anyway. The next morning, we all had the good sense to be embarrassed and to apologize for the previous night's outburst, but a distinct whiff of sticky, sickly resentment remained in the air for the remainder of the week.

When I told Owen about last year's fiasco, he shook his head and laughed out loud. "But your mom seems so normal," he said.

"She is normal," I agreed. "So is Grandma. So am I, actually, for the most part." But there was something about the combination of three Helens combined with the primal lake cabin setting that brought out the very worst in all of us. Thankfully, the in-laws' presence lessens the toxicity of a Helen Penelope Harris vacation almost 100% as all of us like to be on our best behavior around the rest of the family.

As we near July 1st, however, I start to rethink inviting Jaden to the lake cabin. Before my Ambien kicks in on June 30th, a series of what-ifs swarm my head. What if my mom and/or grandma and I get in a fight in front of Jaden and it embarrasses/traumatizes him? What if Jaden embarrasses me in front of my family? What if the lake cabin doesn't help Jaden, but instead makes him even worse? Jaden's problem seemed like a pretty simple – and if I'm honest, shallow – one at first. Once he sees that there's a big world out there full of motor boating and wake boarding and fishing and swimming and barbequing and fireworks (and drinking, but he's not even close to 21 yet), he will realize he has more in his life than just some silly show. But is this arrogant of me?

Maybe Jaden doesn't even like fishing or swimming or any other lake related activities. Maybe his social awkwardness will rub people the wrong way and he will only retreat deeper into his shell. Maybe my mother is completely right and I have no right to try with Jaden at all anymore. Maybe Sam Samuelson is right and I am only doing this selfishly to try to make myself feel better about my own sorry excuse for a life (not to mention my failed relationship with Perry). Okay, admittedly, I haven't told Sam Samuelson about any of this yet, but I know him well enough to guess his response. By the time morning sets in, I am seriously hoping Jaden has changed his mind about wanting to go.


	5. Chapter 5: Jaden

Chapter Five: Jaden

The drive from Milwaukee to Whitefish Lake, Minnesota is five hours and fifty-five minutes and only half an hour in, I am realizing that traveling with Helen and her mother is a big mistake. Ever since they picked me up bright and early at 6:30 on-the-dot this morning, the two Helens have been blabbing away non-stop like a couple of middle-schoolers. Though I'm barely paying attention, I glean that Helen (the III that is) has never had a full conversation with her snob of an uncle, despite meeting him at least a few dozen times; that Helen's cousin Becket lacks the concept of personal space (although, Helen – the III that is – can almost forgive him for that since he has Lupus); that Helen's grandmother, Helen Harris I, has recently given up smoking and will therefore be more of a bossy, old hag than usual; and that Gail, whoever the hell that is, is probably still fat, despite her recent bypass surgery.

When I was a kid, Hermione and I watched this crappy, old musical called _The Music Man_ where one of the songs involved a bunch of old busybodies "picking a little" and "talking a little." That's what Helen and her mother remind me of: a pair of gossipy hens. I have only met Helen II a handful of times, but every one of my encounters have been some somewhat less than positive. She's much like her daughter, but with a harder, nastier edge to her. Where Helen III can certainly be irritating (to put it mildly), you can tell she means well and is a decent person. Helen II may well be a decent person as well, but her cold confidence and lack of caring about what other people think makes her seem scarier, even more dangerous than her daughter.

As we approach a gas station, Helen the III turns around. "So, Jaden!" she says, as if just now remembering that I am there. "Are you looking forward to the fireworks tomorrow?" She gives me a pathetic, hopeful smile. Meanwhile, Helen II rolls her eyes and scoffs.

"Huh?" I say, removing my ear buds, even though I heard her perfectly well. In fact, I'm not even listening to my iPod at all. Earlier, I listened to "Scarborough Faire," the theme song from Mice (although I was never able to find the exact version used in the show), but it made me so sad and frustrated that I wanted to throw my iPod to the floor and stomp on it until the screen shattered.

"I said 'are you looking forward to the fireworks tomorrow," Helen repeats cheerfully.

"Oh," I say, slouching into the back seat, "sure."

"Jeez," she says, shaking her head and still smiling like an idiot. "Maybe you shouldn't have your music on so loud! You don't want to go deaf, do you?"

I clench my teeth and glare. "Why do you care?" I say in a cold, quiet voice, much calmer than I actually feel. "You're not my mother." Instantly I realize my mistake and regret saying it. Helen looks like I just slapped her. Her face falls and she breathes in sharply, purses her lips, then turns away from me. I am about to apologize, but before I can mumble a single word, she is right back to gossiping with her mom.

"So, do you think Steffi and the baby will be there?" she asks.

"I hope not," says Helen II. "She's such a drama queen!"

"Yeah, but I bet the baby's super cute!" Helen III argues.

"Eh," says Helen II. "I don't think he's anything special. I've seen much cuter. His head's a bit…square shaped."

Helen III gives a sharp, shocked laugh. "MOM! You are sooo mean!" she shouts before dissolving into a fit of giggles.

I push my ear buds deep into my ears and curl against the window, closing my eyes. Perhaps not surprisingly, I am unable to sleep. My mind returns to Mice. I bet Thesidauticus never loses his temper at anyone. In fact, no one does in the King Arthurverse. Everything is calm and rational. The Mice think before they speak. They engage in healthy dialogue where everyone's opinion is respected. For a long time, this was one of the reasons I thought I would prefer to live in the King Arthurverse. Tears fill my eyes now, as I can no longer relate.

Something else I used to do was imagine how the Mice would respond in my situation, or how I would respond if I were them. Even at the time, I realized this was all kinds of weird. In fact, various articles I read about Mary Sues and Gary Stus listed "imagining a favorite character helping you in real life" or "pretending to be the character" as signs of extreme Stu-ishness. Right now, I don't know what Thesidauticus or any other character would do in my situation because Thesidauticus would never be in my situation. Icy cold dread fills my stomach. What if Mice really doesn't have anything to do with real life? What if it's just a bland, unrealistic utopia and all the characters are bland, overly perfect Gary Stus?

For the rest of the five-hour drive, my mind continues on this loop. By the time we reach our hotel in Minneapolis (we will be meeting the rest of the family for brunch/Bloody Marys tomorrow morning), I feel like bashing my head against a wall, screaming at the top of my lungs and kicking everything in sight. Instead, I clamor out of the car and shuffle into the hotel room, my eyes staring determinedly at the asphalt.

Helen III looks down at her watch. "It's only 6:45," she says. "Should we get some dinner?"

"There's actually a great Italian place around here," says Helen II.

"Well, Jaden?" Helen's voice lacks her usual bubbliness. Perhaps she's still secretly stinging from my earlier comment about her not being my mother.

I shrug. "Nah, that's okay. I'm not really hungry."

I'm expecting her to say something along the lines of "well you need to eat!", but instead, she just nods. "Okay. Why don't we go check in?"

I have my own room, as promised, with two double beds and an enormous flat-screened TV. I have absolutely no desire to watch anything, however, so I fling my suitcase on the floor and flop onto the bed nearest to the bathroom. Again, I cannot sleep, so I stare at the wall until the room darkens.


	6. Chapter 6: Helen

Chapter Six: Helen

"You shouldn't have to put up with that," Mom says, taking a sip of her martini.

I sigh and trace my finger along the rim of my white wine spritzer glass. Half of the fun of a Minnesota trip is drinking, so I wanted to wait to get anything alcoholic until we get to the cabin. No use filling up on empty calories before we've even gotten there, after all. However, by the time we arrived at the restaurant, I was more than ready for a drink. And no, it's not like I have a drinking problem or anything, certainly not to the degree of my mom's cousin, Uncle Moose, who consistently goes to the bar across the lake from the cabin until 2:00 in the morning.

"Yeah, well, he's right. I'm not his mother."

"And thank God for that," she mumbles under her breath.

"MOM!" I snap. "Jaden is a good kid. He's just going through something really tough right now!"

"Okay," says my mother, folding her napkin daintily across her lap. "I'll bite. What is he going through that is so tough it makes it impossible for him to be civil with you?"  
I realize I can hardly say he's upset about not liking a show anymore without the whole thing sounding trivial. I'm supposed to be making Jaden look good – or at the very least, sympathetic – after all. "You know," I say, picking up my paper napkin and shredding it absentmindedly. "Teen stuff."

"No, I don't know," she says, pursing her lips. "And stop that," she motions toward my shredded napkin. "You're making a mess."

"Sorry," I say automatically. Sam Samuelson always says I need to work on apologizing much, much less. "But come on. You were a teen once, a million years ago."

She scoffs but gives a small smile.

"It's hard to be Jaden," I say. "I mean, it's hard to be anyone in high school. All those hormones? And pressure from teachers? And trying to get into college?" I realize that I sound a lot like the textbook on Educational Psychology I had to read for my teaching degree, but I continue anyway. After all, the writers of the text definitely knew what they were talking about. "And Jaden is different," I say. "Like, he's weird. And I don't mean that it a mean way at all! Just…he's not interested in the kinds of things most teenagers like. He's not popular like I was. I think it's really hard for him to make friends." This, at least, is true. "He's probably really lonely at school and the whole divorce thing definitely isn't helping."

She sighs. "Well, that's hardly a reason to be rude to you," she says.

I drain the last of my white wine spritzer and call over the waitress to ask for another.

"Really?" Mom asks, raising an eyebrow. "Do you know how many calories are in that?"

"Um, yes," I snap. "We've definitely discussed this before. Of course I do!"

"Well, I just hope you're planning on getting a lot of exercise tomorrow," she says – which is another of her all-time favorite quotes.

"And what about you? Martinis have, like, five percent more calories than white wine spritzers, you know! Are you going to be getting a lot of exercise tomorrow, too?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Which is why I'm only having one," she says condescendingly.

Because I have no desire to get into it with her about my weight or my drinking habits, I return the conversation to Jaden. "You know, it doesn't matter that he's rude to me. It really doesn't. I mean, I wish he would be nicer to me, but that's okay. It's not like I'm not totally used to it. I just hope he's nice to everyone else at the Lake Cabin. Maybe you were right. Maybe this was a horrific idea. He's just so awkward around people."

"Do you think he has Asperger's?" Mom asks. She says it with her mouth full of Caesar Salad so it comes out like sounding like "Oz-burgers."

I have several friends on the Autism Spectrum who are all lovely people, so it has definitely crossed my mind, even though the one time I suggested it to Perry, he stuck out his lip and told me to stop being so judgmental. "I think he probably has a lot of things," I say, picking at my Sesame Asian Chicken salad. "He just gets so obsessive sometimes." I take another swallow of white wine spritzer before continuing. "Like, for the past year, he's been really, really, really into this weird show called The Mice of King Arthur's Court."

Understandably, she scoffs at that.

"Yeah, I know," I say. "It's super weird. But, like, now he's starting to outgrow it, I guess. Or just realizing it's a bad show, maybe. I don't know."

"And that's what he's so upset about?" she asks, narrowing her eyes.

"Um, yeah. That's definitely part of it."

"Oh please," she replies.

At this point, my head is feeling so fuzzy I'm not sure how to respond. Is it a serious problem or is it just "oh please?" I'm not even sure anymore.

At 11:35 this next day, Mom, Jaden and I arrive at The Wharf, our family's go-to brunch/Bloody Mary spot.

"You're late," snips Aunt Mary, who isn't my Aunt at all, but rather my grandmother's cousin. I hadn't taken her presence into account this year and I groan inwardly. To say Aunt Mary is a bit of a control freak is putting it mildly. To say she is no fun at all is much more accurate.

"Sorry, Aunt Mary," says Mom in a fake cheerful voice as she goes to kiss her on the cheek.

"Oh, be fair, Mary," says Grandma Helen, waving her Bloody Mary glass in the air. From the looks of it (and from knowing her), this isn't her first cocktail. "They're less than five minutes late!"

Aunt Mary purses her lips. "Well, everyone else was able to be here at least five minutes early," she mutters under her breath.

"Don't mind her," Grandma Helen says, right out loud. "She's been in a mood all morning." She smiles at me and takes my hand in both of hers. "How are you, my Darling? You look beautiful this morning. Simply ravishing!"

I blush slightly. To tell the truth, I have a slight headache, determinedly throbbing behind my eyes, but I don't say anything. "Thanks, Grandma," I say. "You look beautiful, too!"

"Oh, I do not," she says nonchalantly. "But thank you for saying so, anyway." She nods at my mother. "Helen. How was the drive?"

"Hi, Mom," my mother says, giving her a peck on the cheek. "It was fine."

"And who's this?" Helen I asks, eyeing Jaden from behind her Bloody Mary glass.

"Oh, this is my former step-son, Jaden!" I say, nudging Jaden forward and praying silently that he will be polite. "He couldn't wait to come out here and meet everyone!"

"Well, now that's an obscure relative," she says and smiles. "Pleasure to meet you, Jaden. What do you do for fun?" Which is, of course, precisely the wrong question to ask Jaden.

"Nothing," mumbles Jaden charmingly and collapses into the seat next to me, where he slumps down and stares determinedly at the menu.

My mom laughs. "Teenagers, am I right?" she asks.

As our drinks and food arrive, I introduce Jaden to the rest of the guests. Aside from Grandma Helen, Aunt Mary and the previously mentioned Becket, Ellory, Uncle Moose and Tom Snook, we are also joined by Tom's new wife, Andrea, my second-cousin Steffi and her new baby, Taylor and Mom's childhood friend, Gail, previously referred to by everyone ever as "Gail, Gail, the Big Fat Whale," because apparently the seventies were a very cruel time.

On the plus side, Jaden doesn't say anything overwhelmingly rude to anyone. On the negative side, however, he doesn't say much of anything, even when Grandma Helen, Steffi and Becket try to engage him.


End file.
